Woe, is me
by savefrancegetintomypants
Summary: A collection of stories from Les Amis time in university modern!AU All sorts of different pairings.
1. Of smokes, friendship and love

The school system is loosely based on the British system, as it is the only system I'm somewhat familiar with, aside from the Danish system. Please excuse any hiccups. Also, I believe the story in based in the UK, though I haven't officially written it anywhere. Most people turn 18 during their last year of Sixth Form, which is why Eponine is able to work at the Café.

* * *

She met Grantaire during his first year of Sixth Form.

She was a year younger than him, still in the 10th grade at that point but her school was a comprehensive joined with a Sixth form, and the students mixed left and right. He was new, having just moved to town to live with his aunt, and he was cute in that rugged way that she never could resist, which was probably the reason why she first spoke to him.

She had found him sitting on the curb outside the school, a cigarette resting lazily in the corner of his mouth, unlit, and with his head bend down, staring into the pavement beneath him.

She didn't say anything for a while after she sat down beside him, nor did he. She would look at him, and he would look at the pavement. At some point he gave up whatever he had been doing and straightened his back to look at her as she sat beside him, on the cold ground. Releasing a sigh, he pulled out a crumbled pack of cigarettes from his back-pocket and held it out towards her in an offering.

"Call me R," he had said, before finally lightening his own cigarette.

It later turned out they had a lot in common.

A harsh upbringing had gifted them both with a sardonic and dark look upon life and society (Grantaire had a much more cynical view than she did, but she agreed with him on many of his points, which that was more than what most did, and she knew he appreciated that in her.) They nourished the feelings in each other, got lost in their friendship, together with alcohol, spliffs and fags.

But they also helped each other.

Whenever Eponine's home life became too much, which was more often than not, she would simply text Grantaire, crawl out her window and a few moments later he would be there.

Sometimes they walked aimlessly around, trying to kill the time before morning came, huddling together on a bench in the park or hiding underneath a tree if it began to rain. Other times they would go the Grantaire's aunt's place. She owned a café, Le Musain, and while she was a stern woman, who often dedicated herself more to her work than to her charge, she was one of the few members of Grantaire's family who actually cared about the boy's wellbeing, and that she had decided that his well-being now included Eponine.

The two years they had together while Grantaire went to Sixth Form, were two of the best years of Eponine's life. They shared everything together, and it all seemed to blur together into one content world when she was with Grantaire, a colourful world that made real life seem much easier to deal with.

When Grantaire was accepted into the nearby university on an art scholarship, Eponine's heart was broken. Sure, he would still be staying in town – in fact, Le Musain was closer to the university than it was to their Sixth Form, and they almost always hung out there anyway, so that wouldn't be much of a change – but that didn't matter very much to her during the day.

They would still get to see each other, of course they would, but not going to the same school, not walking the same hallways and entertaining each other during lunch in the common-room, it simply wasn't the same. Their lives were separate now, and even though Eponine had only known Grantaire for two years, the thought terrified her to the very bone.

Eponine's final year of Sixth Form was quickly coming to an end and she needed to start saving up now if she ever hoped to go to uni, and Grantaire needed extra money for classes, so they both began working for his aunt. Almost every free moment they had, was spent in that café at the corner of a small street, a stone-throw away from the university campus.

Most of their customers were students, and Eponine soon felt as if she was as much as part of the university life as Grantaire was. This wasn't saying much, because she didn't think he was much part of it at all, it seemed like he was with her at every moment possible, and didn't actually seem to know any of the students in the café, no matter how frequent they were there.

It was [edit: 'was AT'] the café that Eponine first met Marius.

He sat by himself, hunched over some old dusty books, that she was certain he had snuck out from the library, a cup of black coffee with two sugars left forgotten by his side.

She thought he was absolutely stunning.

His hair was a redish-brown, his skin light and covered in freckles, and Eponine decided that it would look perfect against her own ebony coloured skin. A perfect contrast.

He didn't pay her a lick of attention at first. Not even as she offered to top off his coffee, which had gone cold by now, he simply waved her away, not able to remove his nose from where it was buried inside the books.

"Getting a crush are we?"

Grantaire, was on bus-boy duty today. They swapped every week, it made the job more interesting and nobody got stuck doing only the shitty things. He was wearing a dirty apron and a pair of pink latex gloves, his sleeves wet and his hair sticking out in all direction. He looked absolutely ridiculous.

Eponine secretly thought that he was in no condition to tease her about anything right now, but decided to go for denial instead of counterattack.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," she stated with a small huff, reaching up to tighten her ponytail by separating the hair and pulling it to two different directions, "don't you have some dishes to clean?"

Grantaire pulled at face at her, but turned back to the dirty dishes nonetheless. Of course, Eponine knew she wasn't in the clear. Not by far.

"We don't even offer top ups here."

She could feel the blush spreading on her cheeks, and quickly busied herself with brewing a new batch of herbal tea, instead of looking towards her best friend, who she was certain was sporting a grin by now.

Finding herself in a lack of words to respond with when she heard a chuckle coming from the dark-haired devil standing behind her, she instead opted for chucking the nearest dishtowel at him – which was wet and hit him in the back of the head with a satisfying slap – muttering curses under her breath.

Only, of course, to look up and see the boy from before standing in front of her at the counter, a slightly terrified look on his face. In his hands he held a now empty cup out towards Eponine, and she couldn't help but think it was the cutest thing she had ever seen, and that she would ruin this boy if he ever came too near her.

"Uhm," he stuttered, scrambling for the words to say, "I would like that top up now, if you please."

The laugh Grantaire let out would most defiantly be punished later on. As soon as Marius left, so he wouldn't think she was some sort of crazy, abusive woman.

Anymore than he probably already did, that is.


	2. Of flirting, flirting and fighting

_AN: I have a bunch of notes and short-stories on each character, which I'll try and in-cooperate into the chapters. I've been writing none-stop of days now, and I have way too many word-documents filled with snippets that are set in this universe. Maybe someday I'll upload those of them that don't end up being part of the proper chapters. But, for now, enjoy chapter 2! **Also, I'm looking for a beta, so if someone out there might be interested in helping me out, please PM. English is not my first language, so I could really use all the help I can get.**_

* * *

Courfeyrac likes to walk around naked in the apartment. Enjolras and Combeferre had gotten quite used to seeing him walk around with his privates all out, by now. All they ever asked of him was that he didn't actually sit down anywhere while naked, which he didn't.

Not as long as they were at home to see it, at least.

Every day since he started uni, which was almost a year ago now, Courfeyrac would come into Le Musain and order a cup of iced coffee with whipped cream and caramel.

And every day, no matter who was standing behind the counter, he would flirt shamelessly with the barista in hope of getting free stuff, free sex or perhaps just some fun to spice up his day.

Eponine (Courfeyrac had made quite a show of getting to know the two barista's names, because he was good at flirting and good with people, and he knew how much it mattered that you noticed things like that), would scoff and roll her eyes at him and sometimes, after a while of him doing it, she would even charge him a little extra for the coffee, which he would pay because – fair enough – he did come in to bother them every day, and while it was harmless he could tell it annoyed her to a point, not that it had ever stopped him.

Grantaire would flirt back with a wicked glint in his eye and a teasing grin on his lips, and sometimes he would slip Courfeyrac a free biscuit or an extra squirt of caramel in his coffee, which _almost_ made Courfeyrac scared that the barista perhaps thought that their flirting was a bit more serious than Courfeyrac did. Grantaire didn't, of course, and this was soon revealed when Courfeyrac saw him slip two cookies to a somewhat plain-looking girl who had batted her eyelashes and thrown her hair a bit more than what seemed necessary.

It seemed that the often gruff-looking male had taken it upon himself to make the customers feel good about themselves, this had almost made Courfeyrac's stomach flutter, if not for the fact that he honestly didn't want to do more with the other male than go and get a pint with them, Courfeyrac was certain that Grantaire was a laugh to be around, and then perhaps, if nobody else were available, bend him over a table and fuck him senseless, which was really that different than how Courfeyrac felt about anybody else.

Perhaps after that they could still become friends, because it seemed like they would be awesome friends.

Enjolras didn't like the barista. Whenever he would join Courfeyrac at the café, and Grantaire would ease up on the flirting but never really stop, Enjolras would scoff into his black coffee (because of course he took it black and strong, what else could you expect from him?), and complain that it wasn't really the most professional behavior he would expect from someone working in a café that otherwise had a very respectable reputation.  
Sometimes Grantaire would hear him, and in responds to the complaint he would simply grin and flirt even louder with the next customer, much to Enjolras' irritation.

It had been Courfeyrac's idea that they should have the meetings at the café. Their group had been expanding, a respectable seven members now, and the living-space in his, Enjolras' and Combeferre's shared flat was beginning to be a tight-fit. They had been looking for some off-campus place to meet for a while now, and it seemed to Courfeyrac that the most sensible place to meet would be Le Musain.

He had quickly sorted it all out with the 'madam', who had turned out to be Grantaire's aunt (not much of a surprise, they both shared the same wicked grin and thick, black curly, he should have seen it coming), and within a week it was officially the meeting place of Les Amis De L'ABC (Enjolras' had stubbornly insisted on the name, despite the fact that only he and Combeferre actually spoke and understood French. Curse his France kink.), every Wednesday and Saturday at eight in the evening.

They commandeered the back part of the café, and whoever was working as a waiter kept the alive on a steady flow of thai-tea for Joly and Jehan and coffee and beer for the rest of the group, that all ended up being drafted on the group's bill, to be paid at the end of each month.

Sometimes, when the rest of the café was bare for customers, Grantaire and Eponine would sneak over and sit in on the meetings, both for most part quiet as they listened to Enjolras speak and sipped their beers. (Courfeyrac had noticed that neither of them ever drank coffee at the meetings, only beer, but he suspected that he wouldn't want to drink coffee either, if he worked at a café and served it to hundreds of students every single day).

Once in a while Grantaire couldn't keep quiet though. Mostly when he was a few beers in - Combeferre had once wondered out loud after a meeting, whether L'ABC actually had to pay for the beers that the baristas' drank - and was feeling particularly daring. Enjolras, who could never got used to being interrupted, and especially not to be told that he was _wrong_, never reacted well, and more often than not, it ended up with the two of them yelling at each other, while the rest of the group either snuck out for a smoke, or huddled in the opposite corner, speaking in-between themselves in hope of drowning out the yelling.

They never could.


	3. Of licking, flicking and nailpolish

Partly inspired by a day in town a day with my friend this weekend. We simply used the entire day to sit in the sun (the nice weather has finally arrived in Denmark), smoke and drink iced-coffee. At one point we started discussing smoking, because I do the flick-thingie that I describe Grantaire does, and she taps her ash off, like any normal person would.

The entire day was amazing, and I got plenty of inspiration for all my stories, plus she has agreed to temporarily proof-read my stories, until I get myself a BETA-reader.

So this chapter is dedicated to Ann, my lovely friend, whom all of you can find here:

grilltis dot tumblr dot com

Thanks for reading this bunch of crappy thingies, bye!

* * *

Grantaire was one of those people who had never learned how to properly smoke a cigarette. Sure, he smoked like a chimney, and he most certainly got more than enough of the smoke into his lungs to feed an addiction, but it was the basic mechanics of smoking that he never quite got a hang of.

For one, he suckled on the bud.

Many smokers agree that there was nothing more annoying than sharing a cigarette with a person who suckles. The bud of the fag becomes wet and cold, because the suckleer doesn't rest it on the edge of their lips, but rather sticks it in their mouths, so their breath and tongue makes it moist.  
Eponine had tried for ages to teach Grantaire not to suckle on the cigarettes, but he had never gotten a hang of it. (Eponine had a theory that he never actually tried to learn it, and was quite capable of not doing it, but kept on because it stopped her from nicking the fag and instead choosing to light her own.)

Another thing he never quite learned was how to hold a cigarette.

Most people rested the cancer-stick between two fingers. It was universally understood that this was how to properly hold a cigarette, be it between the 2nd and 3rd or the 3rd and 4th finger. Grantaire, on the other hand, held it between the tips of his 1st and 2nd finger. Not letting it dangle like most did, but actually held it, like he would hold something small he had just picked up.  
It looked absolutely ridiculous, and especially when he raised the stick to his lips to take a drag and this was probably why Eponine never bothered to correct him about it.

Not that he would have cared either way.

Thirdly, Grantaire couldn't fucking tap off the ash to save his life.

Where most people simply tapped their finger at the edge of the fag to hit off whatever ash there might be, Grantaire flicked his cigarette.  
He had honestly tried learning how to do the proper tap, but he couldn't. Eponine had never seen anyone fail so impressively at something so simple, as Grantaire did at this. Every time he tried learning how to do it properly, the ash would either not come off at all (this was often when he was sober), or he would end up (when drunk) breaking the cigarette in half instead.

It was a handicap Grantaire had learned to work around. Instead he would press the tip of his nail to the bud and flick the cigarette. This, of course, didn't make much of a difference as a whole, but it did mean that he needed to keep his nails longer than most males did, as, if they were too short, he wouldn't be able to do his flick.

To compensate for his nails being long, Grantaire would let Azelma paint them in different shades of colourful nailpolish, so it looked like he wanted to keep them long, rather than needed to do so because of an unhealthy habit, that he couldn't even do properly.  
The polish also hid the yellow nicotine tinge that stubbornly clung the edge of the nails.

Grantaire's nails were often covered in a multitude of different colours, as it was impossible to get the paint from his artworks off, without pulling off the polish as well.

Enjolras didn't care for the polish.

Not that Enjolras actually cared for much about Grantaire, this had been established rather early on, in their companionship. But something Enjolras could never leave alone was the nails.

Eponine had overheard him once, telling Combeferre that he didn't really mind the polish as such, but more that Grantaire's nailpolish had a habit of looking unkempt and was often flailing off from being picked at so much, as Azelma was the only one allowed to do his nails and he didn't see her often enough to keep up appearances. (Eponine had offered to help once, but he had flat out refused).

Once in a while, Enjolras would comment on the nails, disdain clear on his face, and Grantaire would tell him to ' kindly fuck off', in responds thus starting yet another fight between them. Because, Enjolras could never let Grantaire have the last word nor could Grantaire let him. Grantaire always won by pointing out that it shouldn't matter to Enjolras how Grantaire's nails looked, as they weren't even friends. This, for some reason, always shut Enjolras up.

Whenever they fought about it, Grantaire would return to the next meeting with nicely painted nails, free of flailing and paint-splatters, and both of them knew that in the Enjolras had won, though neither of them refused to acknowledge it beyond a smug look from Enjolras, and a less-than-heated glare from Grantaire.


	4. Of rallies, drunks and girls

_AN: A special thanks to both Hexele, who not only prompted the idea of this fic to me but also helped me along the way, and also missjonesforgishwhe who graciously __**insisted**__ that she could look through the fic, and help me out with the different kinks and ideas I had for it._

_Both can be found on tumblr under the names used above. If you want to follow me on tumblr, I am nerdishparadise dot tumblr dot com_

_Enjoy the story!_

* * *

Enjolras didn't actually know very much about Grantaire, and most of what he knew was trivial at best.

He knew that Grantaire and Eponine were in fact _not_ dating, but he preferred not to talk about how this assumption had been disproved (he could still remember the mocking laughter that followed him out of the room, after he had discovered Eponine making out with a man in the back of Les Musain and he had confronted her about this, asking "_what about Grantaire?"_)

Grantaire had a habit of calling him Apollo, yet he didn't know why and when he would ask the other man, he would simply smile a bitter smile and retort: "Because everybody thinks the sun shines out of your arse, so it seemed fitting!"

He also knew that Grantaire smoked, liked his coffee black (with a squirt of brandy in it, when he thought nobody was looking), and that the man either painted every day, or at least didn't shower as much as a regular person would.

He was often covered in splatters of paint, that Enjolras did not find himself staring at nor getting distracted by when the barista took off his uniform after a shift, nor when he handed him over Enjolras' coffee (plain black, no brandy, no sugar) with that insufferable grin.

One night, after a particular long meeting, Grantaire had gotten really drunk and somehow he had ended up in the other end of town, getting a tattoo on his shoulder blade at four o'clock in the morning – and really, why would a tattoo parlor even be open that late? – That said: "I drink to make other people more interesting."

This was also how Enjolras knew that Grantaire was not stupid, he simply made idiotic choices. Because if you are drunk enough to get a tattoo at four in the morning, yet still able to quote Hemingway from memory you've got to at least have some knowledge beyond which brand of whiskey is the best, and which pop singer sang which song.

This was probably why Enjolras hadn't thrown Grantaire out of the group yet. That, and they couldn't really afford to lose any members, and if Grantaire left, so did Eponine, and even if Grantaire was more drunk than not most of the time, he did have a point every once in a while, in between all of the cynicism, much as Enjolras loathed to admit it.

But just because Enjolras _somewhat valued_ Grantaire's opinion, didn't mean he actually liked the guy.

And he didn't actually invite him to the rally _per say_. He had invited Eponine, and Grantaire had been standing _just there_, next to her, so of course Enjolras had to invite him, it was the only decent thing to do.

Of course, just because he hadn't actually wanted Grantaire at the rally, didn't mean that he didn't harbor a vain hope that he would show up, and hopefully, be on his best behavior.

Enjolras had climbed a tree and was now screaming his lungs out, rally the people around him. The turnout was big, and even though l'ABC didn't actually have anything to do with the rally – beyond attending it – Enjolras soon found himself at the center of the protest.

They were protesting against a local factory being shut down, because of government cuts, leaving thousands of people, _families_, suddenly without income. And not only this, the workers had been shamed, their notices and benefits stripped away, leaving them with nothing, not even the money they were originally entitled to get if they were fired.

Enjolras knew Grantaire didn't really care about this. He knew that the cynic would claim to have seen it coming a mile away, deeming it as another proof of how humanity failed in every aspect, and there were no decent human-beings left in the world. ("Except for you, of course dear Apollo, but you aren't really a proper human anyway, are you?")

So it was a surprise to suddenly see the now-familiar dark curls and cheeky grin among the rather large crowd that had gathered around the tree Enjolras was currently occupying, yelling out his inner rage about the system, and societies' flaws. His words faltered for a moment, short enough that the general crowd didn't notice, long enough that his friends did.

In the end, when he was finally pulled down from the tree by police currently on stand-by, - "you! Get down from there!" - it was him who approached Grantaire.

"You came," he tried to keep the surprise out of his voice, but Grantaire always seemed to hear everything he wanted to hide, so he knew that it was a lost cause already.

"Of course I did, Apollo," his eyes were glazed and Enjolras knew that he was drunk, "don't I always?"

"You're drunk," it was a statement not a question, Grantaire knew this and didn't answer, opting instead to throw the revolutionary a bitter smile.

"You shouldn't have come at all, we don't have any use for you, especially when you are like this," Enjolras' words were harsh, but Grantaire had no time to reply before a young girl came up behind him, a kind smile on her face as she laced their arms together.

"R?" she asked, for a moment glancing between the two men, sensing the tension, "you alright? Did you find who you were looking for?"

She paused for a moment, her eyes full of concern as she looked at Grantaire,

"Are you alright?"

Enjolras watched as Grantaire extracted his arm for the girl's grip and instead laced their fingers together, sending her a smile much kinder and more real than anything Enjolras had ever seen on the cynic's lips. He ignored the feeling of his stomach knotting itself together as Grantaire answered her with kind words:

"I'm fine Henriette, just catching up with an old friend."

Enjolras stopped himself from retorting that he was _not_ Grantaire's friend, when the girl looked at him with a bright smile on her pretty face.

And she was indeed very pretty. Young and fresh-faced with dark brown hair, heart-shaped lips and blue eyes. She wore make up, but not so much that it was distracting, she simply highlighted the beauty that was already there. And for a moment Enjolras hated her. He most certainly didn't trust he, she was clearly up to no good.

He considered warning Grantaire somehow, perhaps pulling him aside under the lure of having to speak with him about l'ABC business, but latent anger over Grantaire showing up late and _drunk_, kept him from doing so.

Instead, Enjolras' decide to shove the feeling away, he had gotten quite good at doing that with the more useless feelings throughout the years, and shook the girl's hand.

"Enjolras,"

Her smile seemed almost knowing now.

"Henriette, pleased to meet you."

He answered with a curt, 'likewise', and quickly let go of her hand, instead turning his attention back to Grantaire.

"Meeting tomorrow at seven, be there," he paused for a second to collect himself, desperately trying to ignore how his hands felt clammy and his heart was speeding up – this was surely a result of the rally -, and pointedly ignoring the bemused looks that the woman in front of him was sending him, "and please, try and be sober, for once."

"Your wish is my command," Grantaire answered and Henriette _laughed_, a clear and beautiful sound like music, and there was diffidently something shady about her, Enjolras was certain.

"Good," Enjolras gave a quick nod and turned to leave, "tomorrow then."

As he walked away, he heard the pleasing sound of Henriette's voice as she called out to him, ("yes, we'll see you tomorrow, Enjolras!"), and he almost turned around to tell her that she was _not_ invited. But he didn't, because Combeferre would kill him if he knew he had turned away a potential member, and besides, he had a rally to attend.


	5. Of nihilism, misanthropes and laughter

If it wasn't for Courfeyrac's sparkling smile and all-too-knowing eyes glued to Enjolras the moment she entered the café, Enjolras may have had something to say about Henriette showing up at the café to sit in on one of their meetings, even if she had in fact told him she would do so, the day at the rally.

Enjolras couldn't actually deny the fact that she seemed like a really nice girl, and at least she looked interested in what he had to say, even if she did spend much of the time shooting Grantaire secret smiles while the cynic worked behind the café-counter.

A small part of him still thought she was up to no good – how could she not be, hanging around with people like Grantaire? – But Enjolras thwarted that part in favour of swaying the room (that didn't really need much swaying at all) to his side of the cause.

"It's _unacceptable_ that there are still people out there still struggling to afford the base needs! Still living day by day wondering here their next meal will come from, when their next _paycheck_ or money in any semblance of the form will arrive!" Enjolras paused for breath, the paper he had written the speech on long forgotten, "the people don't steal because they _want to_ they steal because they _have to_, because they have no other choice!"

He empathized this by banging his fist onto the table in front of him, causing a roll of agreements to slide from mouths of the Amis. It seemed, however, that the positive assessments were not shared by their resident drunk, who let out a rather obnoxiously large snort and turned his back to the meeting instead.

"Grantaire? You seem to have something you wish to share with the rest of the group?" Enjolras never could let things slide when it came to Grantaire.

The disagreement didn't come as a surprise to him; it had seemed that from the very first time that they met, the dark-haired male had made it his life-mission to argue Enjolras at every turn. By now Enjolras had gotten used to it, had even come to expect it, but that did not make it rile him up any less.

The Barista took a moment before replying and _god if Enjolras didn't want to knock that self-satisfied smirk off his stupid face; _

"I don't know Apollo, do I?"

Grantaire let out another huff of air, sliding his fingers through his thick curls, "I think you are being a little ignorant if you honestly think the majority of people steal 'because they have no other choice'."

He chuckled before he continued: "what about stealing for the thrill of it? Because your friends dared you? Because you are bored? Because you are a bastard? _Because you like it._"

Enjolras walked towards the counter, leaning over it so his and Grantaire's faces were separated by only a couple inches, and spoke in a cold tone:

"Simply because you are a depressed nihilist who has given up on humanity, does not mean that what you see is the truth!"

"_Misanthrope."_

Henriette's light voice carried through their impending argument, and even without looking Enjolras knew that the rest of the room had turned their attention towards her with frightened eyes. It was an unspoken agreement that the rest of the group never got involved in any Enjolras and Grantaire's many fights, in fear of having the wraths of either of them, turned towards themselves instead.

"Excuse me?"

The stare Enjolras fixed upon the female, had made many people flee for their life, yet it didn't seem to faze Henriette much. Instead she sent a rather confused look over Enjolras' shoulder – to look at Grantaire, he assumed – and continued what she had been saying:

"'Taire's a Misanthrope, not a Nihilist... I mean, do you even know what a Nihilist is?"

Enjolras took a moment to be offended that this girl dared question his knowledge, but instead opted for simply raising an eyebrow, and keeping his glared fixed on her.

"Well then you should know. 'Taire's never been a Nihilist; he has no faith in humanity, not 'no faith at all.'"

"What-"Enjolras would never admit that he gaped at this moment, no matter how much Bahorel later insisted on it, "What do you know about this? Who do you think are, to think that you know him better than us?"

The silence in the room that followed his question stunned Enjolras; he had honestly hoped or rather _expected_ that at least some of the Amis would agree with him. That they also thought that this stranger, this random girl, had no right to waltz in and simply claim to know Grantaire better than they did. They were his _comrades_, his group, who was did she think she was, sitting there on that chair and claim that h-_they_ didn't know "'Taire" as well as she did?

But instead of agreement, he had met with silence. A silence that, after a breath, was filled with heart-warming laughter, which had Enjolras once again turning on his heels and fixing his attention on the Barista, who was now bend over clutching the edge of the bar, his shoulder shaking with laughter.

"**What." **

"Dude, she's my _sister_! I'm pretty sure she knows me better than anyone in this room. Even me!"

At this point the rest of the room joined in the laughter, except Eponine who took the moment to yell out an offended 'hey!' at the claim that someone knew Grantaire better than her, which Grantaire responded to by winking at her.

"You never told me you had a sister."

The art-student shrugged, a smirk gracing his lips as a trace of the laughter that had been there moments ago.

"I thought you knew, not as if I've kept her a secret."

Enjolras turned towards the rest of the group, whom all quickly confirmed what Grantaire had said by nodding, Combeferre quickly assured Enjolras by stating that: "you are often so busy with your causes; you kind of forget to listen to anything else, it's ok. We don't blame you." This did nothing to soothe the quickly spreading guilt that had taken Enjolras' insides hostage.

"Grantaire I'm-"

"Don't bother Apollo, it's no problem at all" Enjolras wasn't sure if he was imagining or not that Grantaire's smile seemed a bit strained, even if his tone was cheery, "the cause comes first."

He couldn't deny it, because the cause did come first to him, and it always would. Everybody knew that. So instead, Enjolras decided to simply nod and quickly walked back to his table to gather his things together.

"I think that's quite enough for tonight, I'll see you all tomorrow at Courfeyrac's place, straight after the last lessons ring out."

As soon as he'd swung his, now heavy and filled to the brim, backpack over his shoulder, Enjolras walked rather briskly out of the café, trying in vain to convince himself that he wasn't running from anything.

And especially not anything to do with Grantaire.


End file.
